


Number Ten

by FreedomFlier (JynX245)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Meetings, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Late Night Writing, Love Confessions, M/M, Metaphors, Miscommunication, Pastries, Pining, Sharing a Bed, it's mild, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JynX245/pseuds/FreedomFlier
Summary: Number one: the fact that from the moment he saw his friend's pale, slightly freckled face and dark hair, his heart jumped back into his throat and stayed firmly there.Dream meets up with George, and it's both easier and harder than he could've expected- if only because he's got a list numbers one through ten on how badly he's got it for George.And George's stupid pretty self is every one of them.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 436
Collections: Completed stories I've read, you've read this fucker :]





	Number Ten

It was the first moment that he set foot on English land that Dream knew he had made a horrible overestimation of his own confidence, and he had a growing pile of evidence that this would be an unforgettable trip, one way or another.

Number one: the fact that from the moment he saw his friend's pale, slightly freckled face and dark hair, his heart jumped back into his throat and stayed firmly there as he greeted him politely, clapping George on the back and retrieving his baggage.

George's laugh is so simple, so childish and yet Dream loves it. The giggles and the way he pokes fun, even if they're at the chinks in Dream's carefully composed self.

"You look like I just kicked you," George remarks, and Dream blinks a few times before a small smile curves his mouth.

"Jet lag," he lies easily, and George quirks a brow at him. "Hey!! Come on, show me around! Maybe we can get lunch soon!"

George, ever the good host, takes Dream by the wrist and leads him along, out into the city. Dream released his breath slowly, acutely aware of how he had held it immediately after telling the fib.

Number two: lying felt so much easier, and yet it weighed incredibly heavily on him. He follows George through the streets, onto the subway- of course, he picks up his usual trend of bantering teasingly with George, attacking how the other calls it 'the tube.'

"It's a tube, with a train," George protests as they disembark, and Dream laughs, a cackling wheeze that makes George smile just a little.

He's always so composed that any emotion he shows feels fake in a weird way, even after these years of knowing him. Dream sometimes is still uncertain if George is genuinely emoting or not, and the doubt nags him as they arrive at George's apartment. Dream examines it as he's led in, greeting the little silver and grey cat that comes mewing curiously from somewhere.

"You're allowed pets?" He asks enviously, "You didn't say you lived in an apartment, I thought you were renting a flat. I had to rent one because nowhere would let me keep Patches with me." George smirks slightly, amused.

"Benefits of knowing people, I guess," he dismisses, and Dream still can't get under his lack of expression- or how _contrived_ the ones he does make seem.

That brings Dream neatly to,

Number three: He wants to crack George open and shatter the marble facade the elder has, to make something that really seems genuine be felt- even if it's disgust or horror or, ANYTHING.

And he feels ashamed for it.

God does he feel ashamed, that the idea of absolutely shattering his friend's composure makes his mouth go dry with anticipation, excitement- _not that kind._

He settles his bags down and then takes a moment to commit the apartment to memory before kneeling down to pet the kitten.

George seems amused by how he gravitates towards the cat, and he informs him,

"I don't REALLY have a guest room, but I think I told you about the 'closet room' you'll be staying in?" Dream nods.

George had shown him pictures, even video called to show him it. He didn't mind the cramped sleeping arrangement it would inevitably be.

Inconveniencing his friend in his friend's home was really not his intention.

"What sort of thing should we do?" Dream asks, allowing excitement to bleed into his voice. "I know I'm jetlagged but I'll be here for like, two weeks, we have tons of time to do all sorts of stuff."

George snaps his fingers, a graceful motion. Dream watches his slender fingers pass over each other, half-registering the snap. He quickly starts paying attention once George begins to talk.

"We could go for a walk, or maybe a bike ride," he suggests, "And there's those pastries I was telling you about, I'm absolutely getting you some. The forecast says it should be clear for at least half the time you're here- so we can spend a lot of time outside. Of course we'll need to stream at least twice, once for an introduction and once just for the sake of continued interaction."

Dream chortles softly, knowing full well he kept an amazing monopoly on his fanbase despite rarely streaming or uploading.

The fanbase.

Number four:

The drawings and fanfics and remarks about them secretly dating more than ruffled his feathers. In fact, sometimes he'd spend astonished hours after they got off calling after reading a fanfiction together, scrolling through the tags, cheeks flushed pink at how many people picked up on the more-than-friendly chemistry he had towards George. And he hates how the concept of their drawings and writing being eventually based in reality makes his heart flutter and his stomach twist; the thought of dating George appeals to him.

He stares dreamily at George as he reels off ideas, half tuned in as he studies the other's dark brown eyes and his delicate features. He's not 'handsome' exactly- Dream would describe him as pretty. Elegant. He _looks_ British in a way the blond can't place. He runs his gaze over him repeatedly- delicate dark eyelashes that flutter over warm brown eyes, those same lashes that brush over his pale skin and almost bat at him each time the other flirted back in their calls...

 _Fuck_.

George is staring at him in exasperation, expectantly, as though he had asked a question whilst Dream spaced out.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek," he blurts, and George reaches for his left cheek instinctively, "Other cheek."

This time he gets it, and then repeats the question for what Dream is sure is the third or fourth time.

"What do you want to do?

Dream smiles slightly, almost shyly.

He ponders it for a moment, and comes to...

Number five: All he really wants to do in that moment is hug George. Hold him tightly, press his smaller body against Dream's, snuggle him. Cuddle him. Tip his chin up only to see a curious, yet imploring look in those inexpressive dark eyes, lean in the close the gap and-

"I'd really just like to spend time with you, and I guess at most? We could drop by some tourist attractions, since I am indeed a tourist," Dream says, willing away the thoughts of holding George and kissing him and all those things that he can't do, shouldn't want to do. This is his best friend.

A very good best friend. All he could ask for, _right?_

But Sapnap is his best friend too. Sapnap is his friend, and yet he doesn't get these urges with him.

So clearly it isn't just 'kissing the homies' like he'd joke it is on stream or on call, or anywhere outside of his own cacophonous mind.

His admission makes George smile. Makes him happy. He seems to be happy Dream wants to spend time with him, and the expression melts Dream easily.

He's putty in George's hands and the brunet doesn't have a clue. He hasn't got a single one about how Dream's eyes cling to him as he walks, about how Dream curses himself for even thinking he could be in the same building as George, let alone the same room, without getting jittery and sick to his stomach.

But Dream has plenty of clues, and they all point the same way.

To disaster, mostly, he wryly thinks. Because he's prideful.

He can already see the crash collision this trip is on, can already see his descent into the waves as his wings burn up with his hubris.

But right now, he wants to fly and chase that sun, chase the brilliant light of the unobtainable.

Flirting with danger is how he likes to characterize himself after all, even if in reality he's a real scaredy cat. The person that the fans know is more of a daredevil, taking more risks, being more _dangerous_ for the content. He smirks faintly.

Could 'Dream' do this, though? Could he come to George's home and contemplate pushing his friend to the door and telling him right now how he feels? Would he contemplate ruining everything between them for the satisfaction of baring himself?

Oh, he would. Dream knows that. His character might take more risks, but he's truly closer to Dream's true self than he'd like to admit.

George is excited, seemingly, chattering away as he prepares a drink for Dream, talking about jetlag and resting and all of that sort of thing.

"Hey, wanna join me for some cuddles?"

It slips out in a playful, easy tone at the suggestion of sleeping. George pauses, glancing back at him oddly for a second.

"...what?" Dream shrugs, and grins, his freckled cheeks shifting with the motion.

"Cuddles. Y'know? Hug the homies and all that?" At a further look of confusion, he elaborates in a more serious manner, "I'm just tired right now and it slipped out. I'm a pretty tactile person, and I've mentioned it before that I really do enjoy snuggling someone while I sleep."

He didn't snuggle Sapnap too much when they slept over though. He didn't want to hold _Sapnap_ in his arms, close to his chest, until his eyes shut and his breath slowed, didn't want to see _Sapnap's_ expression while he slept.

 _And you want that with George?_ The voice in the back of his mind sends a shiver through him, goosebumps covering his skin as he rubs his arms.

Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't, he bargains with himself, and if he does that's okay, but not this trip. Not the first time they meet up. He's sure George was intimidated by the thought of meeting him in reality finally, that's one of the reasons they continually delayed this trip until there was no real reason to delay it further.

No real reason unless he really _didn't_ want to meet Dream and was lying to his face. But somehow, the giggly grin George shoots him over the cup that he plunks down on the table begs to differ, so there's that...he guessed?

"What is this?" Dream wonders, taking a whiff of the warm, rich scent of the drink as George states,

"Hot cocoa. You know, the real kind. I told you I'd get you to try it!"

Hot chocolate. Dream glances into his cup, at his black and sepia reflection, remembering when he had asked about British hot chocolate. Remembering how George had grown determined to have him try it.

He's thoughtful. Dream takes a sip after blowing softly on the warm liquid. Though it's still very warm, it's bearable, and he remarks in mild surprise,

"It IS richer, just like how you said. Huh. That's...almost weird!" Even if it increases the function of something, he tends to find foreign things a little strange- but that could be because outside of America everything was done different, from marriage, to legality, to toilet designs. And even though he's curious and adores learning new things, so many new things overwhelm him and seemingly suffocate him in options, and he almost wants to go back to the original way he's always done whatever the thing is, 'his way.' It's childish, sure, but he won't admit it. Some things bring him comfort when others eliminate it, and if those comforting things involve being stuck in his ways and disliking changes, then so be it.

Number six: George scares Dream, badly. Because George could ruin him, and he's not sure he could take the kind of hit George can dish out and just keep going.

He's afraid. He's afraid of George, who he watches with puppy eyes and a fluttering heart, because George can so easily be the grave that he eagerly digs for himself or the bright being that dips down to save him before he goes under the waves.

Dream is confident usually. Overconfident.

But around George he feels like he's a freshman in highschool again, his first year in a strange new place, jittery and scared and carefully choosing each next step as though it could end with him slammed in a locker like in all those stories he read.

The metaphorical locker of George's anger and chilly dismissal looms before him, and he absently remarks,

"It's really good hot chocolate." George bursts out laughing.

"You look so tired," he says, almost fondly, and Dream lifts his head from his hand, blinking at him.

"I do?" George nods, smiling.

"Maybe you should go rest for a while?" He suggests, "You're going to drool on the table if you don't lay down soon."

Dream scoffs, embarrassed that George would think that- and then instinctively wipes his hand on his shirt.

He had been drooling on his hand.

_Fuck!_

Now red with embarrassment, he hurriedly finishes his drink, much to George's clear amusement as he jokingly helps his friend up.

"Switch into cleaner clothes before sleeping," He advises dryly as they arrive in the room, and Dream snatches up some clean clothes, darting off to do so.

He pulls the shorts and tshirt on, now realizing most of his clothes are probably a bit too warm weather oriented for England's chillier climate.

He makes his way back to find George sitting on the edge of the air mattress, lacing his fingers and staring at a nondescript spot on the wall. He jumps when he realizes Dream is there.

"What, are you actually gonna cuddle me?" Dream teases as he plunks down, tucking his pillow near the end. George nods slightly.

"I mean, if you actually want it," he says carelessly, not knowing how his words shoot straight through Dream's body, turning his cheeks pink and his heart beating faster than is allowed for the situation.

"I'd," Dream takes a quick breath, "I'd like that, yeah. Might help ease me in to being in a new place, too." He adjusts the blankets and sprawls down over the mattress, invitingly patting the bed beside him. "Come here then! I don't bite."

George seems a little hesitant as he slips down next to Dream, his eyes darting away as he tucks himself awkwardly against the blond's side, an odd sound escaping him as Dream wraps his arms around him, rolling to face him.

"I didn't hurt you or something did I?" Dream immediately asks, and George shakes his head.

"No I'm just...not really used to this much physical touch all at once. It's not bad," he reassures, "...can you keep doing it?"

Dream doesn't need encouragement to do so, snuggling closer to George as his jetlag comes crashing in, exhaustion flooding him.

"M'gonna sleep now," he murmurs, missing the sharp intake of breath George makes as Dream nestles his cheek against his friend's neck, loosely encircled arms holding George close to him. "Love you George."

It's instinct born of their late discord calls, where he would fall asleep only to find George awake a few hours later, at three, four, five am for the Brit.

Dream sleepily puts together,

Number seven: He wants George to take care of himself. He wants to make him happy with little things that reward him for doing better with caring for himself, sleeping more, drinking more water, even taking showers more frequently.

It's not that George is depressed, he had asserted such frequently, just distractable and bad at keeping on top of his self care.

But Dream doesn't like the exhausted look in his eyes some days, the weakness of his voice as he tells his American friends that he's finally going to sleep.

_He can't keep this up forever, and I want to be the one to put an end to him pushing himself like this._

Dream drifts into a peaceful sleep filled with the sensation of two heartbeats almost perfectly out of sync in an oddly calming fashion.

* * *

He only wakes when George decides to roll closer, too close, wrapping his legs around Dream's thighs and draping his arms around his chest, under his shirt as though they had accidentally drifted up.

Dream stares at the sleeping man, who is now mere inches from him, and he can hear the ticking time bomb in his mind.

He knows this trope. He's seen enough fanfiction with it, why didn't he listen? Sharing a bed can only lead to disaster, let alone coupled with pining and cuddles-

Pining. He lingers on the word, and curses it. That's really what this feeling is, isn't it? He writes, he knows the word and the feeling tied to the word; but nothing, no fanfiction, no novel, no bad romcom, could prepare him for how pining actually hurt, ached, made him feel so small.

George nuzzles the tip of his nose against Dream's collarbone, and he let out a soft squeak, the ticklish sensation getting the better of him.

He's so _cute._

So cute and so dangerous. Not his. George is not his. Not for him.

He bitterly looks over the shape of his friend as he murmurs something breathlessly in his sleep. God.

He's so close and yet he couldn't possibly be farther from Dream's reach. He's literally and figuratively entrapped by George, but if he was to even reach out and touch him, he was sure that George would burn his hands, blistering him before he could get a chance to explain anything.

But he really wants to kiss George right now. On the cheek, on the forehead, on his hair even. It's soft and smells faintly like some basic brand; Dove maybe? All he can tell is that George took a shower recently, possibly even this morning; it's really hard not to guess at these things when your face is practically resting amidst their hair.

He succumbs, just a little, and brushes a sweet, platonic-passing kiss over George's hair. He might not even be able to guess that it was a kiss, it was so brief and soft.

And he's asleep. Dream's already cursing his impulsive decision despite George staying soundly asleep. He must have been up late after all, maybe even going all night to pick up Dream from the airport, he realizes abruptly, and settles down slowly.

It's late afternoon, he reasons, they can sleep a while longer, couldn't they?

It wouldn't hurt them to rest. Both of them needed it, surely.

* * *

George's laughter mixes with Dream's as they walk, the blond balancing on pylons and chatting to George about the stupid things they had done on stream.

Things mellowed in his mind once Dream woke up the following morning, slipping George's grip to make them both breakfast. It was nice, in a way, allowing him to slide into that little fantasy of always being with him. They ate, and then decided to go live, Dream (as usual) covering his face and using the laptop he had brought to play some (mildly subpar) Minecraft with George on the SMP.

The steams, both George's and his own (titled respectively 'Messing around on the SMP (guess who I'm with!)' and 'Minecraft with George') netted ridiculous viewership, and of course there were tons of questions about their visit so far.

"I've never seen so many Dreamnotfound comments in one stream," George reflects, and Dream laughs easily.

"Yeah, they really donated to ask us to kiss," he recounts, and George fake-gags, but follows up with

"That's directed to them, I'd kiss you."

The awkward statement makes both of them go pink, and George clarifies quickly,

"I mean like, there's nothing wrong with you that would make me NOT want to kiss you. Not saying that I'm interested."

Dream winces a little.

Number eight: George has too much power. Far too much for Dream's own wellbeing.

He could truly break him, he reflects, lapsing into silence as he sulks a little over the definitive _'not interested in you'_ statement. George isn't interested. He said he'd kiss him only in the sense that there was nothing _wrong_ with him to repulse him.

_Except that I'm me. Why?_

Oh, it's awful, he knows he should stop. But the aching sensation in his chest doesn't stop as he watches George lead him on and on and on down this path, even though in reality he's just following him down the road.

He's going to destroy him. Dream can feel it, under their tentative happiness at really meeting each other, in person at last.

He can feel the dreaded coldness that will come when George composes himself again and freezes him out as he always does.

He did it after the stream where he and Sapnap burned his armor, the one where Bad _actually cried_ over them killing the fish.

He had felt like shit over that. He had felt like just turning the server over to George and letting him run it, taking a break altogether.

Sapnap had insisted firmly that it wasn't that awful, it was just a joke taken a little too far, but the way that George had grown frosty towards them for a few days stuck in Dream's memory as a threat.

Because if he stepped out of line, fucked this up, there was no guarantee his friend wouldn't flee and leave him frozen.

He didn't want that! Why _would_ he?

_Because at least this would be over._

* * *

Time was running out. Only a few days left, and they had done both of their allotted streams, had done several of the things they planned.

It's evening right now, and Dream is awkwardly balancing on a bike, finding with surprise that he still remembers how to use it.

It's a rental bike, and George hops on his eagerly, gesturing to him with a beaming grin.

"Come on!" He takes off, zipping down the street quickly, and Dream follows haphazardly, weaving around signs that he accidentally sets course for. It's so beautiful out at night, even despite the thick clouds hanging in the sky. He thinks they might fade though, given enough time.

He's lost George for a second, and panic bubbles up in his chest as he searches for him, finding him at the corner, dashing back onto his bike as he blinks innocently at Dream, brown paper bag held tightly in hand.

"What's that?" Dream asks, pulling up beside him.

"The pastries!" George says excitedly, and once again his composure is slipping, he's melting like an ice statue left too long. But it's beautiful. He's beautiful.

They're together on this night and this beautiful man is clutching the bag of pastries that he's picked out to share with Dream tightly as he readies himself. The stars are _literally_ shining on them. Or smiling. Whatever the saying was.

Dream leans back and adjusts his feet as George once again zooms off, clearly used to riding around like this.

Dream struggles to keep up, to stay close enough to ask,

"Where are we going?!" George shoots him a grin, turning a corner as he shouts back,

"Wait and see! You'll love it!"

 _You'll love it._ A small spark catches in his heart, and he feels warmth spread throughout him as he softens to the words. George has picked a place. A place he thinks Dream will love.

_How sweet. It's special. He's as kind as he is a jerk at times._

George seems exuberant, his laugh as they ride filled with genuine happiness.

Dream adores this moment- a moment where he can see into George, can see the person underneath the carefully contrived persona he wears so easily.

A smile lifts the corners of his mouth, and he peddles harder, catching up to be neck-and-neck with the other.

They work together easily, despite Dream's awkwardness on a bike, leaning closer or farther from each other as they drift through empty streets and down a hill, more towards the edge of town, the outskirts.

Distantly, Dream thinks he can hear a wolf howl, though there's a chance it's a dog with how faint it is. The night is oddly perfect, despite the chill.

"I do this at least once a month!" George tells him, giggling as his bangs whip about; Dream's get in his eyes far more often with his longer hair.

 _Once a month._ He's being included in a ritual of sorts, a tradition.

And that just stokes the warmth in him, causing goosebumps as the warmth in his chest contrasts the chill of his skin. This is very special, he's sure.

Number nine: George is very special. George is otherworldly to him, a figure of some angelic realm even despite the other's devious tendencies.

Even with how Dream gets pranked and pushed and teased around, he wouldn't trade George for anything.

There's something exciting about this ride, and it's not the ride itself; something in the night air, the smell of flowers, wafts of oddly nostalgic scents that he can't place. The whole world is so bright, and he feels his heart jump once again.

George is exciting, he realizes. They always joked that George was the tame one out of their trio, but he seems to have an adventurous streak just as much as Dream.

Possibly more, though that could be more due to England's gun control laws.

George banks to a stop in a small dirt cul-de-sac, the road fading to nothing beneath their tires. He tucks the bike under the fronds of a tree; a weeping willow, Dream is pretty sure.

He follows suit, looking at George's slightly giddy smile as he does so.

Unexpectedly, the brunet grabs him by the hand and tugs, leading him into the brush and up the hill.

"Don't worry, there's no animals or anything," he laughs, "But I'm sure you could handle them just fine, Florida boy."

The dig causes Dream to dip his head, knowing that he's probably right but also...

"Aren't there wildcats on the English countryside?" He asks nervously, "I can punch a gator but I've never punched a panther."

George waves a hand,

"Urban legend. We have bobcats. Not panthers." They reach the summit of the hill, tall grass brushing Dream's upper thighs as George turns him around, letting him see everything around them; the river that winds in the distance, glinting with light as the clouds part fully, stars reflected on the surface of the water, the city in the distance, just close enough that he can pick out detail but far enough that most of the buildings are dark monoliths speckled with bright windows.

George sits down amidst the grass, laughing as a fluffy blade brushes his face.

Dream is nervous, suddenly, though he's awestruck and still taking in the landscape.

"It's beautiful, huh?" George murmurs quietly, knowing what Dream sees even though he himself is seated on the cushiony grass. "I come here whenever the moon is heading for full, because I can see everything in the moonlight. And everything is blue."

The words shatter something in Dream; he had, once again, almost forgotten that his friend is colorblind. _Everything is blue._

He's not wrong. In the washed-out moonlight, everything is some dim shade of blue or purple, which was blue to him besides.

_He comes here at this time because he can see everything? Or just because it's beautiful? Both?_

He glances at George, and then sits down. George murmurs something, fidgeting with the bag as he reaches in to grab Dream a pastry and offer it to him.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, I just said that wasn't a pity hook, by the way. The world can be beautiful in daylight too. I just love this spot at night."

The clarification feels off, as though it's not only not what he said, but whipped up to mollify something in Dream. It does its job, though.

Dream takes a bite of the pastry tentatively, and his eyes widen, before he promptly stuffs the rest in, cheeks bulging comically. George snorts.

"You like them, huh? Hey, swallow, stupid! You're gonna choke!" Dream nearly laughs past the pastry, which he gulps down half-intact.

"They're delicious!" He beams, "You were totally right about them. Can I have another?? Please?"

George rolls his eyes, and wipes a smidge of frosting off Dream's lip, before offering him a second pastry.

"Chew this time," he orders, taking a bite of his own pastry.

He has frosting on his mouth by the time he's done, Dream notices, and the urge to lean in and kiss it off him is almost irresistible...almost.

George starts on his second in a bit, humming softly as though to occupy the silence with something other than crickets.

Not that there's any shortage of those; not by any stretch of the imagination. The night ambience is alive around them, all sorts of insects singing and distant birds calling.

And god, he can't take his eyes off George for even a moment. This was special, very. George had brought him to this place, at this time, told him why he came here, with such a genuine undercurrent of something tender and soft between them- it was hard to misconstrue.

But if he had gotten it wrong?...Dream shakes it off, and shifts to face George a bit more. He places a hand on George's cheek, prompting a curious hum from his friend as those dark eyes glance up at him.

Number ten:

"I love you, George." The tone he says it with is unmistakable, raw and dripping with vulnerability, laced with threads of desire and sweetness. Genuine, open, and far different from their playful statements on stream or in calls.

_I love you._

George's eyes reflect the stars. Dream could get lost in them, he's sure.

George doesn't pull away.

"You do?" A calm question, collected. Dream panics, thinking he made the wrong decision, and pulls his hand back as though George genuinely burned him, eyes widening as he stammers out,

"I- Yeah, I do, you know, this is kind of a really special thing, ain't it? It's all like- emotional and stuff, aren't we supposed to at, some point say we love each other? As best friends?"

 _Unconvincing_. He wraps a blade of grass around his finger.

 _You fucked up so bad._ He tugs the blade of grass taut, like the atmosphere.

 _Stupid, with all your ten pieces of evidence that this would go wrong and you still pulled that card?_ He tugs harder, snapping the blade.

"...you don't need to lie." The frown in George's voice immediately shames Dream, and he wraps another blade around his finger in agitation, cheeks flushed and his eyes downcast. "Hey. No, look at me."

George's hand is on his cheek, and it guides him to look back at his friend.

Dream mumbles out a halfhearted,

"Sorry."

"No, stop. It's okay." George shifts a bit, turning his body to face Dream and still resting his hand on the other's cheek. "Do you mean that?"

"...of course I do."

The sentence is charged, hanging in the air between them on a thread. It could be his killing sentence, could not be.

George takes a slight breath, and leans a little closer, allowing Dream to be so close that he could practically count every one of those long lashes ringing George's steady, all-consuming gaze. Once he looked into his eyes, there was no going back.

"...tell me more, Dream."

And it comes spilling out, his little fly of a heart snared in George's silvery spiderweb.

All the reasons, all his points.

"God George I'm- I love you, I do. You scare me and thrill me and I want to be around you all the time, and I also want to run far away from you, run so fast and so far that you can never find me." He inhales sharply, and presses on, "Every time you brush me off and stay composed I just- I want to push harder, I want to crack you and see what's underneath your composure, I want to see _you_ , as you are. You're beautiful and yet you're scary, so scary, like some ethereal being, a fairy or an elf, and I love it, I love you and all these terrifying feelings you stir up."

George waits, seeing the way he heaves in another breath, getting a little closer to whisper,

"So what's the big finisher?"

"I'm in love with you, George," Dream spits out, like the words are bitter, but they're sweet. They're so sweet it's sickening, twisting his stomach and leaving an artificial aftertaste in his mouth as though they aren't even real. "God I- just get it over with, I know it's not mutual. I made a mistake, I fucking slipped up."

George doesn't. He asks quietly,

"You want to know what I really said? I said I wanted to see what you looked like in the moonlight. Because you're beautiful and you look so...graceful, in this place, even if you're a clumsy guy. You're beautiful, and stupid. Dream?"

His name sends shudders down his spine as he stops midway through pulling back, feeling George's other hand on his back.

"Can I kiss you?"

He'd be stupid not to say yes, even if it's the only chance he gets.

"Of course," he replies and despite what George had just said, it's mournful. Would George kiss him out of pity? Probably. He can be a real asshole.

But the tenderness in how the brunet pulls him in speaks volumes, and the way their lips meet is soft, sweet and gentle. He lets Dream lead it, and inevitably they end up in the grass, Dream on top of George, both panting softly as they separate for a moment.

"Say it," Dream begs, "We're not on stream, there's nobody but me here to hear you say it."

George laughs softly, reaching up to tangle his fingers tenderly in Dream's hair.

There's nobody here to hear him say it, except Dream and himself.

It was always this desperate tug-of-war between them, even off camera; sure, Dream got the noncommittal 'love you' here and there, but it was never with the same sincerity or earnestness he or Sapnap shared their affection.

To be fair, he never expected the same from George. He'd known Sapnap forever, it felt like. And Bad, well...Bad just told everyone that he loved them. The same sweetness laced every declaration, and Dream had no real doubts that Bad could in fact love his entire audience. There was so much room in his heart to love.

Dream has room too. But somewhere in the room, there's a small place tucked away for George, a special little area of his heart that has pined for George's affection ever since the other withheld telling him he loved him while the camera was on.

The metaphorical area is draped in spidersilk, dewy droplets of gold and crystal hanging in the web. Betwixt the lines lay all the memories, all the moments they had shared, caught up in silver thread and held firm, like echoes that refuse to die away.

_I love you._

The words are almost shameful in how eagerly he had told George. He waits, his wide green eyes staring into the dark ones that pin him, pierce him. Despite him being the one who pins George to the grass, he feels just as trapped as always. Like prey that somehow got a momentary upper hand on the predator.

George takes a deep breath, and Dream's eyes lock on his mouth now, waiting for his pretty lips to form the words, waiting _desperately-_

He laughs. It looks like he just couldn't help it; he caresses Dream's cheek, and confesses,

"You look so desperate, I'm so sorry. Get off me for a second."

Not what he had wanted to hear. But he gets off of him, and George digs through his pocket, pulling out a small notebook and flipping it open.

"I'm not as good as you at improv," he says quietly, "So let's just open with that line. I love you, Dream. I've loved you for a long while now."

Those words alone have Dream on cloud nine, his fear eaten away by the bliss that blankets them.

"You're so smart, and you know a way through every situation. You've been there to help me whenever I needed you, whether it was with a piece of homework or grief or family issues- and I was there to help you. You're beautiful, handsome, whatever word you like to use- you look like you could just crush me if you tried, and I'd be okay with that, because I love being close to you. I'm not eloquent, and I'm not sure how else to say it, but somewhere along the line I fell in love with you and-"

Dream takes his hands gently, and George looks up from the notebook,

"-And, I...I..." His silence is met with a smile, and Dream whispers,

"That's all I needed you to say. George." His voice is still raw, emotional, faint pinpricks of tears in his eyes as he smiles wider,

"Let's stay here for a bit longer."


End file.
